


From Across the Street

by MarbleAide



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Neighbor au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarbleAide/pseuds/MarbleAide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim spends his time curiously spying on the new neighbor across the street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Across the Street

**Author's Note:**

> Be warned, in this Jim is 16 and Sebastian is well into his thirties, so there is an age difference and underage sex depending on the country-- just a heads up. Other then that, it's usual stuff with these two. 
> 
> Enjoy!

There’s a motorcycle that sits untouched in the driveway of the house across from his own. It’s been sitting there for nearly a month now, the owner of the thing he has yet to see, which is not from lack of trying. Jim cocks it up to them just missing one another, though he also sometimes suspects some sort of murderer lives inside those walls, which would be completely okay by him. He day dreams of plastic wrap all along the floor and heavy locks on the door to the basement. It makes him smile, makes him bite at his lip until there is blood enough to taste and if he gets off on the mental images, there’s no need to tell anyone.

Of course, he’s wrong (sort of) because his mum of all people has met the guy.

“His name’s Sebastian Moran—Mr. Moran to you, thanks, and he’s an army type, did a few tours in Afghanistan, said he even went to India for a while.” She says one day, even though Jim didn’t ask, but she knows enough to figure out what he’s thinking when he’s been staring out the window at his house for over an hour.

Even so, he turns his head and gives his mum a glare as if she’s insulted him somehow (which she has, sort of, he could have figured it out himself). She doesn’t notice, of course, far too busy getting ready for work.

“He’s a very private man, Jimmy, so don’t go over bothering him.” She finishes, kisses the top of his head as she leaves even though he’s well out of the years of needing a kiss goodbye—he scowls, rubbing at the spot she touched and pouting as she closed the door.

It’s another hour before he’s across the street, knocking straight on the front door, not caring too much for the subtle routes when it came to these sorts of things. He waits around with no answer and, irritated, knocks again. Still no answer, so Jim starts peering over the bushes in an attempt to look inside through the windows. Everything’s too dark to see properly, but he can tell enough from the shadowy shapes inside that there’s not a lot of furniture.

“If you’re ignoring me you’re a prick!” He calls out loud, knocking on the door once more. He’s loud enough if anyone else in the neighborhood was near, Jim would turn out to be a nuisance. Again. It was a common label, really, which didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Still finding no reply, Jim gives a sigh and leans in to were the door meets frame, pressing his lips into the crack it made. “If you’re a murder I won’t mind,” he purred out in some sort of whisper, “I’d like to see the bodies, you know, see if you cut them up into bits. I’d like a pelvic bone when they decay, preferable female.” He pulled away licking his lips, running his tongue over the teeth-made cut he put there yesterday. “I’m across the street, if you want.” He finishes, finally, leaving it at an open invitation before stepping away from the porch and back to his own.

\---

The first time he manages a glimpse at the man across the street—Sebastian, and oh how he knows the feeling of that name leaving his lips now, how it curls on his tongue and leaves his body in shivers—he’s anything but disappointed.

It’s just for a minute, really, sitting in his same spot by the window as he always is when the car pulls up into the driveway of the Moran residence. The man who gets out is tall, blond, and from where Jim is sitting he’s got well toned arms—tanned, clearly so, even in the darkness that is the growing evening. He’s disappointed he can’t see proper details, but imagines the stains on the man’s t-shirt to be red or dirtied browns, feels his stomach tighten with the thought.

The view is fleeting, as Sebastian moves from the car to the front door, unlocking and pulling open. He pauses before advancing forward, turns just enough that Jim seems his face in its entirety, to which the teenager’s breathe hitches at the very sight of it. There’s pale scars running diagonally across his face, from the corner of his forehead to his cheek, stopping just at the corner of his lip—and he’s staring right at Jim (or, at least, he thinks he is). He looks mauled and beautiful as the street lamps flicker on. Shadows fall too much then and suddenly Sebastian is gone, disappearing inside the confines of his home with the door locked up tight.

It doesn’t matter.

That night Jim finds himself wanking to the images of scars in his mind’s eye, wondering how they would feel under his fingers, taste across his tongue, and comes with a surprised shutter through his entire body. It feels perfect.

\---

He takes to going over to Sebastian’s porch to whisper into the crack of his front door more often, whenever he can. Before school, after, when it’s far too late in the evening and too early in the morning. He speaks about showing Sebastian his collection of animal bones, how he still wants that pelvic, wonders about the woman who came over on Thursday who he was sure tasted like too much wine when Sebastian kissed her, wondered how hard he had shoved her against the door, and if she screamed when he ate her out that night. He talked about how much he loved Sebastian’s pretty scars, mused about where he got them, if it was one of the victims that fought back or something even better. Told that little sliver of space about how much Jim would like to touch, taste, leave his own scars. How he touched himself to the thought of Sebastian and how he’d let him touch him for real. How he’d scream real pretty for him and wear that horrible red shade of lipstick if he liked the way it smeared over his face just as much as he liked how it did to her.

There was never any sort of answer, reply, any indication for Jim to stop, so he didn’t.

Every time he managed to catch a sight of the man, however, Jim found him always taking a moment to stare back. Enough so that Jim knew his eyes were blue in the sunlight and just a shade darker green when it set.

\---

The first time Jim finally saw the man up close, his mother’s car was broken down and needed to be taken in. The guy in the garage was stained with grease, sweat, and had a series of diagonal scars across his face. Jim was just a little disappointed the mysterious stains weren’t blood, but that was soon forgotten when he got his first good look of Sebastian, up and down. Long legs, defined arms, broad shoulders, and the tank top he wore clung to his chest and abdomen like a second skin. He was beautiful.

When Jim looked, Sebastian didn’t give him a passing thought as he and his mum talked about the car, what might be wrong, and prices. Jim scowled, arms crossed over his chest in irritation not wanting to be on the sidelines as he was. When the conversation finished, his mum went inside to the little waiting room to call a cab, leaving Jim in the garage with a little smile slowly spreading over his lips.

“Where did you get them?” Jim quickly asked, filling in the silence before Sebastian could turn back to his work.

The man paused, eyes now on Jim just how he wanted, assessing the teen just as he had done moments before, but he stayed silent.

“Did you get into a fight with someone who cheats?” Jim continued, taking a step closer, “Cut up your face all pretty like that? They must have been horrible though, missing your eye and everything. I mean, it would be so easy to just scoop it out with a finger, let alone a sharp little—“

“Tiger.” Came, finally, in a voice of gravel and soot, slicing through Jim’s body enough that he visibly shuttered, had to close his eyes and breathe it all in. “Got attacked by a tiger oversees.”

“Did you kill it after?” Jim licked his lips, teeth tugging at the tender flesh of his lip, wanting to tear it open again. “Skin it and wear it around still bloody and warm?” Jim imagined it, all that lean muscle and beautiful blue eyes bleeding from wounds and soaked in the blood of the jungle cat, still warm and dripping. “Have a nice hard fuc—“

“Jimmy!”

Jim’s head whipped around with the sound of his mother’s voice, eyes wide with spite at the interruption.

“Leave Mr. Moran be, come on, our cab will be here shortly.”

Jim couldn’t help but growl, but listened anyway. “Goodbye, Mr. Moran.” He threw over his shoulder with a little wave of his fingers and, well, if his hips swayed a little bit more than normal he was none the wiser, but from how hot his back felt leaving, dear Mr. Moran was.

\---

“Do you hear me?”

His mother asked him to stop by at the car shop on his way home to check on the process of the car, make sure she didn’t have to keep the rental for longer than the week she signed on for.

Sebastian didn’t jump or flinch even though Jim had practically appeared out of nowhere. Instead, he looked over his shoulder at the teenager, wiping his hands before standing up.

“When?”

“You know when.” Jim replied, sighing softly as if bored. “I know you’re home at least some of the times and it’s been long enough that you would have noticed.” He smiled, perking up as he pulled his arms behind his back, fingers entwined in the image of innocence. “What’s your favorite been?”

The man gave Jim a long stare before he spoke again.

“I don’t have any bones for you,” he said, moving off to a different part of the garage, to which Jim simply followed behind him.

“That wasn’t the question you know. If you didn’t like it, you would have told me to piss off already.”

Another pause, much longer this time, as Sebastian looked him up and down then back again.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,”

Sebastian made a curious sound and Jim batted his lashes.

“I wouldn’t want you in lipstick.”

Jim couldn’t help but grin, figuring it as something of a victory.

\---

When they finally get their car back, running like new and a for a cheaper price then was estimated, Jim’s mum baked cookies and tells Jim to deliver them to Mr. Moran as something of a ‘thank you’ to him for being so gracious the past week. For once, Jim doesn’t complain or make a face, just takes the plate across the street to knock on Sebastian’s door. His car is in the driveway tonight, so Jim knows he’s home.

On the third knock, the door opens to Sebastian standing in the doorway. He’s shirtless and hair slightly wet, so Jim openly stares because he can and the man doesn’t stop him.

“My mom wanted to thank you,” he says, offering up the plate of cookies while at the same time slipping inside when Sebastian gives him an opening.

Instead of getting thrown out, the door closes behind him and Jim can’t help but smile at that knowledge.

Inside, the living room is sparsely furnished just like Jim had guessed from his peering inside, with a rug on the floor, a single three cushioned sofa, and a table near the corner. Jim moves to put the cookies there, tired of holding the too warm plate.

“You know, I have killed people,” Sebastian says out of nowhere, making Jim turn towards him once more.

“Oh, I know,” he grins sweet, “Being the soldier and all.”

Sebastian sighs softly, runs a hand through his hair before he speaks again.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says, not having moved from the doorway.

“Oh, I’m not thanking you. I’d thank you a different way, though my mum does bake decently.”

A moment later, “How would you?”

Not a minute passes before Jim’s on his knees, fishing Sebastian’s growing erection from the opening of his jeans, sucking the warm flesh into his mouth. When Sebastian’s hands come down to ravel in his hair, Jim sucks harder and is rewarded with the sound of Sebastian’s head falling back to hit the door.

It finishes far quicker then Jim would have liked, with Sebastian coming in his mouth and Jim doing so with his hands down the front of his pants.

“Next time,” Jim breathes, standing up on shaky legs to lean up and kiss Sebastian on the lips. He tastes like smoke and mint. “Paint me.”

A feral sound from the back of Sebastian’s throat is his answer.

\---

The first time they fuck, really fuck, Jim’s stopped by the car garage again, but this time it’s when Sebastian’s closing up and no one else is around. The suns falling quickly in the sky and, Jim knows his mother will grow suspicious and worried if he’s out longer then he already is. He tells Sebastian as much, but reassures him there’s enough time from now until then to do whatever they liked.

So, Sebastian has him over the edge of the desk inside the small office connected to the waiting room. Papers flutter to the floor as Sebastian pounds into the tight heat of Jim’s body like an animal, making him grip hard to the edge of the desk less he slip around too much. His entire body burns with the feeling of Sebastian stretching him far too wide with not enough preparation and it is probably the best thing he’s ever felt in his life.

Jim comes completely untouched with only the edge of the desk biting into his cock the entire time. Sebastian follows through with what Jim wanted before, pulling out to finish across the small of the teen’s back. As they both catch their breath, Sebastian’s running his softened dick through the mess he made, rubbing it into Jim’s skin and pushing the fluid into Jim’s still-fluttering hole until he’s moaning again.

Sebastian drives Jim home that night and is thanked many times over by Jim’s mother, to which he replies with a simple shake of his head and a few muttered out ‘it was no problem, really’ until he’s allowed to go back to his side of the street.

\---

“You should fuck me on that bike of yours.” Jim purrs out one time in their post-coital bliss, for once in Sebastian’s bed. He’s wrapped up in Sebastian’s strong arms, tracing the scars all over his body with the tip of his finger. “Have it rumbling against us as you shove your prick in me.” Jim always likes to talk dirty. He kisses Sebastian’s jaw who seems to be lost in thought for the moment, which is fine by Jim, he figures, as he climbs on top of the man and starts up round two.

\---

Sebastian’s outside more often now, covered in motor grease with a tool box by his side, working on the motorcycle.

Jim likes to watch him, from the comfort of his own house or sprawled out on Sebastian’s front lawn. When the latter happens, Sebastian says almost nothing and so it’s Jim’s job to keep the silence away.

He tells him about how his father ran off before Jim was born. How his mother cries some nights and the others when she drinks too much. He talks about how much he likes dead things, likes collecting them and poking at them and tearing them apart. How kids at school always call him strange and how he has envisioned every single one of them dying. How he bites at his lip until it bleeds and how he sometimes does wish Sebastian turned out to be a serial killer and he was still waiting for his pelvic bone, though he supposes the gender doesn’t matter all that much anymore.

For his part, Sebastian is always quiet, no matter what Jim tells him, and Jim is secretly grateful for that.

\---

Eventually, the bike is fixed up enough to run and, though Jim pushes for his own request, the first thing Sebastian does is take him out on a ride. They drive around aimlessly for a while, with no direction in mind except whenever Jim tells Sebastian to turn this way or that. He always tells him to go faster, grip hard around the man’s waist as the engine revs to send them speeding down roads, weaving in and out of any traffic they encounter.

It’s the first time Sebastian has heard Jim laugh and it’s the first time Jim can remember in a long time doing so.

They stop in a park to lay in the shade of a tree as the sunlight slowly goes out around them. For a long while, all Sebastian does is kiss Jim in all varieties of the sense; soft, chaste, heavier and wet, making Jim moan against his tongue and continuing on and on until they both just taste the same, like each other. It’s dark when Sebastian finally pulls them to their feet again and has Jim bend over the seat of his bike, hands at the handlebars while the motor runs just like he wanted.

It’s almost slow, but the sharp thrusts into Jim are anything but gentle. His hips will be sore for days afterwards, which Jim is perfectly happy with as he holds on for as long as he can, letting out soft pants of breathe every time Sebastian jolts his body forward. They come almost together, shuttering and moaning out their releases before collapsing against the leather of the seat.

Both breathing hard, they come down together.

\---

It’s not love, Jim thinks, because he doesn’t like that word, never has, but he thinks about it a lot. Neither of them say anything about things like that as if some silent agreement had been made. Jim wonders if Sebastian thinks of himself as a pervert, calls him exactly that sometimes, but all he ever gets in reply is another kiss and nothing else.

In the end, he supposes, they’re both properly strange which is the only thing that Jim ever thinks really fits.

On a Thursday, months after Sebastian had moved in, he gives Jim a present wrapped in dark blue paper with a red bow on top. He calls the man a sap before tearing into it.

Inside is, sitting among tissue paper, is a pelvic bone almost perfectly preserved except for a crack in the pubis. Jim, for once, is utterly speechless. Sebastian says nothing, but leans down enough to give Jim a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It’s as close to love as Jim figures he’ll ever get.


End file.
